 | The Solitary, and other poems |  |
“Peace, fool!” cried Jasper, “take thy cheer,
And stint thy prate: the past retriev'd,
Is a new missal interleav'd
With an old sermon:—let it pass.
Why is flesh liken'd unto grass,
But that it is cut down?”
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Is a new missal interleav'd
With an old sermon:—let it pass.
Why is flesh liken'd unto grass,
But that it is cut down?”
—“Aye, true,
And turn'd into beasts' profit, too.”
And turn'd into beasts' profit, too.”
| The Solitary, and other poems | |